Ironic
by mattnmello
Summary: Before Wammy's house, have you ever wondered who Mail Jeevas was?


**I do not own any of these characters; they belong to Takeshi Obata and Tsugumi Oba. The song Tears and rain doesn't belong to me either, it's James Blunt's.**

**Enjoy and thanks for reading.**

**------**

**Ironic**

**Chapter 1: Tears and rain.**

_**I guess it's time I run far, far away; find comfort in pain,  
All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble.  
Hides my true shape, like Dorian Gray.  
I've heard what they say, but I'm not here for trouble.  
It's more than just words: it's just tears and rain.**_

_**[-James Blunt : Tears and rain.]**_

**Irony :** Noun. 1 Linguistic device or form of humor that takes its effect from stating or implying the opposite of what is intended.

The little redhead closed the dictionary and placed it back into its shelf. He walked past several corridors without even looking at the other shelves.

Ironic, Little Mail Jeevas' life could be called: ironic. Funny how a simple word could perfectly define something as vast as a life.

The event that had just occurred no less than two hour before was going to cost him a few bruises (and only a few if he was lucky.) But what could he have done? He was sure it was going to happen. The teacher was just waiting for a chance to get him out of the school, and this was it.

Wasn't it ironic that for the first time he had fought back against those bullies, he was the one to be expelled? And to make things worse, it was the first time he had done something against the rules, and he hadn't been warned or forgiven. No. Just automatically expelled. He knew he could have protested, but would it make any difference? It was his fault after all, he perfectly knew under which conditions he was allowed to attend school. Besides, he was conscious it would be pointless to argue with someone who held a grudge against his mother. Mail knew this was the teacher's way to show his resentment against the woman who had cheated on him. Not that she really cared about his education or anything.

Wasn't it ironic that even though he was a brilliant student, he had never ever been praised by his own mother? But Mila would never accept that her acts were the main reason of this man's prejudice against her son.

The fact that he had gotten into a fight was just what he needed to make it look like it was his entire fault. She wouldn't listen to Mail if he tried to explain it anyway. She would just blame it all on him. But then again, it didn't matter whether it was his mother's fault or not if he was being a victim of injustice. He could only think of two words: "I screwed " It didn't matter if his mother was involved or not, in his eight year old mind, it was all his fault.

The boy left library and headed to the park. There was a storm outside and he didn't have his coat. (Not that the one he had would have prevent him from getting wet.) He shivered as he walked past the little market.

"Look, isn't he the Jeevas boy?" he heard Mrs Jordan, the meat shop's owner.

"Yes. Mila's son. He's always idling at the park," said her employee.

"My little Sarah told me he got expelled from school today for getting into a fight. Honestly! That kid's got no future."

Mail stopped, he wasn't in the mood to just ignore what they had just said. He turned around and glared at the two women.

"Oh, yeah." He started "Because selling meat is a great professional career, ain't it?" said the boy sharply.

"You brat! Don't you have any respect toward your elders?" retorted the fat woman.

"I'm just saying, not that I should since it's none of my concern; even though that doesn't keep you from talking about things that don't concern you. However, I really do appreciate your opinion ladies, it's nice to know that someone actually cares about my education."

"Stop it! Laura get back into the store. I'll teach you some good manners." the clerk obeyed her boss.

"Maybe you should, and I'd be willing to listen." He smirked.

"You brat!" she slapped the boy violently, making him fall on the wet floor.

"Witch," muttered the boy calmly, standing up clumsily.

Mrs Jordan grabbed the broom. Knowing her intentions, the boy crouched on the floor and closed his eyes. He waited for about five seconds, but the hit never came, instead he heard a voice.

"Madam, are you crazy?" Mail opened his eyes and looked up; it was an old man, wearing fancy clothes. He was holding Mrs Jordan, keeping her from hitting the boy.

"This is the way to treat lazy bums like him!" she retorted.

"I believe this is not your son, am I wrong? Besides, don't you think he looks beaten up enough?" said the rich man angrily-

Mail watched the scene confused. Something was off...He stood up and stared at the two persons fighting.

"No, I'm not. Thank god, I'm not."

"Then you got no right to lay a finger on him…"

This time, these words were spoken in an unbelievably annoying monotone voice. Mail turned around to meet a tall skinny teenager, with long black hair and piercing black eyes. However, this person looked really different compared with the other, sort of messy. He wore some random jeans and a white shirt whereas the other wore a gray suit. He also had these horrible eye-bags and stood in a weird position with his hands in his pockets. Mail wondered if he looked like a bum to everyone then what did this guy look like. Some sort of mixture between a drug-addict, and idle and a pervert. He was holding two umbrellas.

The woman gave Mail a sharp look, "Get away from by shop," she said fiercely.

The boy stood up staring at the two strange people inquisitively and walked away slowly.

"I believe you should apologize properly, madam," the older man's voice pronounced.

"Get out of my property!" exclaimed the women raising her broom again.

"Not unless you apologize with the boy." said the teenager.

Mail, who was just a few meters farther, suddenly stopped without looking back. He just stood there.

"Get away from here! Or else..." she grabbed the teenager from the shirt.

"Or else, what?" He said with a smirk on his lips.

"Or else I'll call the police!" she said furiously.

"Oh, you want to call me?"

"Wha-!?" the woman let go off him scared.

"Winchester Police department." pronounced the older man.

"We could very well get you a free tour in jail for child abuse," Mail smiled.

"You may apologize right away." stated the old man.

The boy couldn't stand it anymore, he busted out laughing.

"No," he said as he tried to contain his laughter, "There's no need of that..." he finally looked back.

The woman and the two men stood there all astonished, to be more specific; the woman looked more irritated than surprised.

"Don't look at me like that, I am grateful: you truly amused me," he said smiling, "But then again..." his facial expression suddenly changed into a more serious and sharp one, "I don't need nor want hypocritical apologizes coming from such an insignificant being. As for you two gentle men, don't think you helped me. Friends help, others pity, and compassion is the last thing I want coming from anyone."


End file.
